


the universe is a shitty walmart (and we are its sleep deprived zombie customers)

by cherrycola (tangledthoughts)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, happy 413 you guys, i just wanted to write sappy almost johndave sue me, johndave? in my 2019?, sorry fellas, technically its just implied, theres no macking or real relationship things here, they call each other gay but jokes on them theyre both gay, theyre actually so soft for each other its embarrassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledthoughts/pseuds/cherrycola
Summary: in which both you and dave need to sleep but he talks about the universe instead, much to your chagrin.(john pov)





	the universe is a shitty walmart (and we are its sleep deprived zombie customers)

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in a post-sburb au, where they "win" the game and get transferred into a no-sburb timeline, memories intact. the au setting isn't that obvious, so you can just choose to ignore it.

Your name is John Egbert. You are in the same bed as your best bud, Dave Strider, and he is not falling asleep. Right now, he's just talking aimlessly to you. Both of you are awake for reasons unknown (Well. Your reason isn't exactly unknown. It was a nightmare, and you're pretty sure his was too, but there's an unspoken agreement not to pry. Neither of you want to talk about it, so you just… don't.)

"Maybe we've been thinking about the universe wrong."  
You want to ask him why he's getting all deep and philosophical on you all of the sudden, but then you hear him do that tiny amused snort he only does before he launches into a complicated patented Strider Ironic Joke (tm), and you can only sigh exasperatedly back at him.  
"Maybe the universe is just a giant fucking Walmart, and God with a capital G is the big man behind the counter." 

You roll over to face him, squinting sleepily in the dark. You can just barely make out the shape of his face, and his well loved frames— goddamnit, he went to bed with those on? Rolling your eyes, you reach out a lazy hand to snag the shades from his face, fold them gently, and proceed to blindly shove them not-so-gently onto the nightstand behind you.

"You have obviously never worked at a Walmart. Pretty bold of you to assume God would work as a cashier. Since he's the head of everything, wouldn't he be the manager or something?"

He waves a lethargic hand in your direction, stifling a yawn.  
"Whatever. He has to deal with all of our bullshit anyways, right? Customer complaints, people looking to walk away with free stuff without paying jack shit, et cetera, et cetera."

"Dave, is there any purpose to this conversation? I'm pretty sure it's 1 in the morning right now. I dunno."

"1:43, actually."  
He responds immediately, and man, you will never get used to the fact that Dave has a scarily accurate internal clock. It's crazy. He doesn't even get jetlagged when you guys fly over to visit Jade and the others. You're getting sidetracked.

"Whatever. My point still stands."  
You huff obstinately at him, your cheeks puffing out in that way Jade oh-so-cheerfully told you made you look like an angry chipmunk.

"Wouldn't it be funny, though? Marching up to the big G himself, going like 'can i get a refund on this life? i think mine got supremely, hella fuuuucked'." He shifts slightly, angling his body towards you. Even though his tone is light, there's something sad underneath it all.

"To be honest, I'm not sure God exists." The words come out soft and tired, and you hear a tinge of bitterness to your own words that is just as surprising as the fact that you'd said it out loud. You blame it on the lack of filter that late nights and early mornings bring you.  
"I mean…. all of.. that. How could all of that happen if there is a big someone up there?"  
He knows exactly what 'that' you're referring to, and you know what you're referring to, but both of you constantly dance around the subject of all that has happened during the day. Under the cover of night, however, everything you've bottled up just seems to spill out a little easier. 

The sheets covering both of you rustle slightly as he shrugs.  
"Retail workers don't give two shits about their customers. And vice versa."  
He ties it back into the dumb Walmart-Universe metaphor he had going on, but you know his heart's not in the joke. The silence stretches, dark and heavy with something you can't quite name, until you suddenly breach it.

"Dave?"

He lets out a soft "hmm?" in reply, encouraging you to speak again. You take some time to stare at him instead of talking, because that is just what your sleep-fogged brain feels like doing tonight. Today. Bluhh.

His eyes, now fully visible without his shades covering them, are focused on the ceiling, so he doesn't see you blatantly staring at him. You like his eyes. The darkness sort of obscures them, but you know they're a really nice shade of red, the kind of red that you see him wearing all the time. He doesn't take off his sunglasses that you got him very often, at least not in broad daylight, because he's got photosensitive eyes. 

He snorts slightly while he laughs, and he's got freckles that start on his face and then trail down to his neck and shoulders to disappear under the shirt he wears as pajamas.  
More romantically inclined people would describe his freckles as stars, or galaxies, dusting his body, but dusting isn't really the right word. Neither is galaxies, for that matter. You've seen too many galaxies and stars up close in your lifetime, and the only ones you'd like to see again are the glow-in-the-dark plastic stars tacked onto your bedroom ceiling.  
He's positively covered in a trail of tightly packed freckles under his eyes and over the bridge of his nose, so it's more like small clusters of blooms, you think. Spring flowers on his face. Wow, that is so sappy. You should stop thinking.

"Hello? Earth to John. Mission control here."  
You blink rapidly. Dave is back on his side, his lips quirking amusedly at you.  
"Welcome back to solid ground, space boy. Did you say my name for no reason at all, or?"

Shit. Yeah. Okay.

"....Would you trade in your life for another one as a completely different person if it meant you didn't have to go through Sburb?" You blurt the words out, sounding a little bit smaller than you would've liked. Dave's face settles into that neutral inscrutable poker face that he has, the one that you know means he's slightly taken aback. You instantly regret bringing up the subject, but you wait for his response anyways.

"….. No." 

Now you're the one who's taken aback, your face visibly scrunching up in confusion. You hate how you're always so easy to read, but before you can dwell too much on how much of your face the other boy can see in the darkness, Dave continues.  
"I mean, maybe. Being me is pretty cool, though. But shit, I dunno. I guess...... not if it meant not meeting you."

A warm feeling swells up inside you, and you're aware that you're sort of grinning idiotically, but all you can respond with to that incredibly heartfelt sentiment was "Wow, gay." Dave punches you in the shoulder.

"Don't make me take it back, Egderp."  
He's smiling too, from what you can make out in the blurry haze that comes with not having your glasses on. It's also still dark, making your vision ten times worse. You grab what you assume is his fist, because it's still gently resting on your shoulder, and you press a chaste kiss to it. For no reason.

Dave doesn't retract his fist from your hold. "Wow, gay," he parrots back at you, and you can feel your Prankster's Gambit rising as you smirk against his knuckles and suddenly lick a wet, gross stripe along them. Immediately, you feel his hand jerk out of your grasp and hear a strangled high-pitched yelp that he would definitely deny ever coming out of his mouth.

"Dude!" he practically whines, his southern twang coming out at full force, and he frantically wipes his wet hand on you like he's a 5 year old kid. You can't help but laugh at his disgust, the high, wheezy giggles bubbling out of you so hard that you have to curl up slightly.

He scowls at you, but you see the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly in amusement at your amusement. "You, John Egbert, are a motherfucking trickass bitch." He declares with finality, wiping the back of his hand on you one last time. 

You push his chest lightly, still laughing. You think you see his mock-disgusted expression soften slightly as you rub your eyes free of tears of laughter, the last bouts of giggles hiccuping out of your system, but then again, it's dark and your eyes tend to play tricks on you.  
"Just go back to sleep, Dave."

One hand reaches up to faintly grip the hand you pressed onto his chest and for the first time in the conversation, there's a comfortable lull. There's nothing to say. You close your eyes for the second time tonight, his hand wrapped around yours, and just for a moment, you can pretend that everything is normal. 

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> (bangs pots and pans together) send hate comments i wrote this in an hour its hella rushed. also posted on a03 mobile so apologies if the format is any kinds of fucked up


End file.
